


Within Reach

by Rycolfan (Snarryeyes)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: M/M, Post Drew's Line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarryeyes/pseuds/Rycolfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad's starting to feel more than friendship for his touring partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Within Reach

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Mini Valentine's Day Challenge on LJ (in which we had to solve problems using alcohol and/or duct tape). Summary above was the prompt I went with.
> 
> Not real. No offense is intended to those portrayed herein.

Perhaps it was inevitable... on tour together for months at a time, often sharing hotel rooms, sharing _everything_. He spends more time with Colin than anyone else. He knows every habit, every smile, every tiny nuance; he can read the tiniest change in his expression, all the wonderful little things about his improv partner that add up to a whole heap of trouble. Now that trouble is staring him in the face every day and keeping him awake every night, despite every possible avenue of reasoning. So Brad falls back on the only solution he can think of.

It sits in front of him now, a little under a quarter full, on the smooth wood of a bar a few blocks from the theater. Brad is under no illusions that booze will erase his growing feelings, but it blurs reality enough for it not to matter so much—at least for a time. He downs the rest and raises his hand for another, not bothering to look up to catch the bartender’s eye. There’s only one other patron, a few stools down, and Brad is fairly sure that he’s asleep. It’s late, a few hours post-show, but Brad isn’t quite drunk enough; he can still feel the warmth of Colin’s arm around his shoulders after the show, and the familiar pain in his chest when it slipped away.

~~~

He doesn’t remember being kicked out of the bar at closing time; there are gaps in his consciousness, like an old TV set fading in and out. It seems like only a moment later that he’s wandering the deserted streets, clinging to a bottle.

Then he’s in front of the hotel in the rain, his show clothes sticking to his cold skin. When did it start raining?

He’s in bed, stripped of his wet clothes.

Yes, he’s drunk enough now—drunk enough to fool himself that things are different; a warped reality that he can find some small amount of solace in. He can take himself in hand and feel Colin’s sure grip instead. He can imagine a warm puff of breath across his lips before they’re claimed, feel himself pushed into a heat so all encompassing that it consumes him. He can almost hear a sigh of release echo his own as he trembles through a powerful climax. He can fall asleep with the comfort of an imagined embrace that his alcohol-dazed brain can find no argument to.

~~~

Waking brings with it the unwelcome intrusion of reality, accompanied by a raging headache. Brad shuts his eyes again quickly. His body feels like lead; he can’t even raise his arm to shield the light.

No.

Wait.

His arm is pinned.

Then something warm and solid shifts against him, forcing his eyes open. The back of a head fills his vision—one he’d recognize blindfolded—and he’s suddenly aware of every inch of skin pressed against his own in a dizzying moment of clarity.

Through the resulting barrage of emotions, there’s one that rises up to reign supreme, banishing the memory of every other cold and bitter morning.

Hope.


End file.
